Mr. Policeman decided to exit from his car. I didn’t want to look at him because I knew my stunt was super stupid and that he’d drill me like crazy for even thinking of crossing a median in the middle of the day. My nerves got the better of me so I looked, and what do you know, the officer turned into Mr. Cop from the eighth floor. The very man I wanted to sport my new mini in front of, had Nordstrom’s not run out of my size. How could they have run out of a size six? No one in Detroit, or anywhere else for that matter, wears a size six! Yet they were out of it, which left me high and dry—no skirt, late for work, Daisha Miller soon to be on my ass, and then the best of all, a hot-ass ticket from a hot-ass cop! The day was really shaping up.
I got it together so I could maybe talk my way out of a jam; help him to remember it was better to be kind to a coworker. The hell he was going to have that! Coming face to face with reality, cute reality, was a hard pill to swallow so I leaned against the seat and was ready for my punishment.
Mr. Cop leaned against my rolled-down window. “License and registration, please.”
Isn’t that just what you want to hear from a man you have been hot for? For five months? Sure it is. I smiled, reached into my glove compartment. “Here you go, officer. Is there a problem?” Why would you say that stupid shit? You know what you did. I looked into the face of a cop so fine that I was ready to give him every single thing he needed—and buff his pretty black boots if he required that. Certainly, I had seen him before, but not as close up as now. Normally I pass him in the halls, and look up with time enough to see him dropping files on my desk with a quick hello, but nothing like this. He was beautiful, dark caramel skin, tall, lean, built and with lips juicy enough to get arrested for trying to kiss. The dude was scrumptious, almost made me forget about the ticket—almost.
I could feel his eyes on me, searching me, sizing me up, then back to the license. He was probably trying to figure out what would make a person pull a stupid freeway move like that. Then came his voice, that awesome, so completely male voice that shook my world, but without irresistible words. “Ma’am, do you know what you did back there?”
I smiled politely. “I know it was stupid, officer, but I’m late getting back to work and—”
“No reason to speed down the freeway and risk killing someone, or even yourself.”
“I understand, but—”
He backed away from the car and pulled a notepad from his back pocket. “You were going ninety in a seventy-mile zone.”
“I’m sorry. I hadn’t realized my speed.” The hell I didn’t. I had to get back to my job so I could perform something so entirely revolutionary—filing.
“There were flames behind you, Miss.”
“I wasn’t going that fast, officer.”
His eyes narrowed in contempt, hardly believing that someone had the nerve to talk back to him. “As I said, you were twenty miles over the speed limit.”
“So was everyone else!”
“But you’re the one I caught, not them!”
“Sexist!”
“Step out of the vehicle, ma’am.”
“What?” I knew my mouth had really done it this time.
“Step out of the vehicle.”
“What for?”
“Just get out before I pull you out.”
I cautiously did what he asked, then looked into his sexy face again. “Am I under arrest?”
“That depends. Have you been drinking, Ms. Shane? That would be the only logical reason I can figure for someone to do warp speed on I-75.”
“I…uh…” Damn! The martini. That, along with my smartass mouth could land me in jail, courtesy of a mouthwatering cop! “I had a cocktail with lunch but only one.”
“Walk a straight line for me.”
Again, I did as asked. His eyes were on me the entire time, watching me do my best imitation of a straight-laced human being. That was the very last thing I was, but for those purposes solely, I had to pretend to be the sobriety queen, and keep my ass out of jail.
As I walked his line, poised as possible, I wondered why he had not remembered me. Then again, he worked with a load of people. 1300 Beaubien is a huge police station with a lot of super hunks wearing metal and dark blue. Everyone looked alike, other than him.
He gave me the green light on passing the sobriety test, but something told me he wasn’t nearly finished with his persecution. He moved in behind me, his delicious dark eyes scanning me. He grabbed both my wrists and slapped cuffs on them before I could object. I had always wanted to be in tight quarters with him, but damn, not like that. I tried looking behind to see him but he forced my head forward again. His tone had gathered triteness, arrogance, roughness. I liked it, loved it, wanted more of it.
“After what you did, don’t even think about looking back at me, Ms. Shane.”
I twitched within his clutch. “Let me go, damn it! I passed that stupid test of yours and you have no right to detain me.” A good acting job if I must say so myself.
He tightened the cuffs. “The hell I don’t! I don’t like your attitude.”
“What attitude? I did what you said without a fight, so what’s the problem?”
“My problem—women who speed down freeways in little beige Toyotas. That’s my problem.”
“Would it have been better for you had it been a big, thick, dark SUV?”
“Close your mouth!” He pulled me behind the car and leaned me over the trunk. “I would take you to headquarters, but I think I can deliver a better punishment than my overworked and underpaid coworkers. I could at least spare them one troublemaker.”
“By doing what to me?”
“Don’t worry about it!”
“I won’t be the one worrying once my lawyer gets word of this. He’ll be all over you when I get out of this.” Work it, girl. Work it good!
“Who says you’ll be getting out of this?” He pressed my size 34C’s against the trunk and reached for them, feeling them, squeezing them between his ever-so-masculine hands before searching the rest of me.
“Why are you searching me? I don’t have anything.”
“You look dangerous; beautiful and dangerous. God only knows what you might have up that thigh-high skirt.”
I bucked him, but all along I was enjoying how he maneuvered his hands across my breasts, gently squeezing my nipples. He did the same on my thighs, searching between them, feeling silky smooth skin against his big, hot hands. It was nerve-wracking…nerve-wrackingly erotic. He searched my slippery folds with those thick, long fingers until it purred pathetically for him. That’s right, he was digging for Montana gold, pressing me harder and harder against the car, between medians on the freeway, and in the middle of the damn day. He was fearless, and had the right job to be so.
Though I thought he was a maniac version of Dirty Harry, I was liking the attention in major ways and wanted to dare him not to stop. For that matter, had he stopped with that incredible friction, I would have used his own gun on him.
His warm breath lowered to my ear as his hands continued to assault my now stiff nipples. “You like your punishment, girl?”
I stiffened to make him think that receiving a good feel wasn’t on my to-do list. “I think you’re losing your mind!”
“I haven’t begun to lose my mind yet.”
He parted my legs further with his thick boot, speaking in a heated growl. His warm hand massaged my buttocks, squeezing it as his other hand continued assaulting my breasts. I could feel his erection pressing against his pants, practically drilling into me with rocket fuel. My God, it felt as good as a chocolate truffle tasted—and I love chocolate. I wanted it, wanted him, and the fact that we were in the middle of a crowded section of town became my last concern. His voice excited me as he continued to caress me. “You feel so good. Do you taste just as good?”
“Why not find out yourself, jerk!”
“Something with a saucy mouth like yours must have some good stuff. Maybe I will find out and unload my bulle
ts straight into you, smart mouth!”
“Then get on with it and stop torturing me.”
“Is that what I’m doing, torturing you?”
I gritted my teeth. “Yes, sir.”
“Good, precisely the effect I was going for. Torture makes me hot, and I like it super hot, Ms. Shane. I like it hot, so hot and loose that I could get lost in it all day long.”
I felt another finger slide into my sopping wet juncture. With his penetration came a release that I had wanted for five months, and his reaction was so well worth the wait. “Goodness, you’re too incredible to be a speed demon.”
He rocked those demanding fingers in and out of me so expertly that I came hard, shivering, wanting to call to him, but not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing he was totally punishing me in all the right ways. My muscles squeezed his fingers, adding to pressure, along with wicked words. “Why don’t you really punish me? After all, I did cross a median. I could have caused one of those eighteen-wheelers to roll over and close the freeway. Don’t I need to be beat down for that?”
“Damn straight you do.”
I screamed at him. “Then do it, Mr. Big Strong Policeman.”
I heard him pull his zipper down and I smiled as wickedly as possible. I was about to get what I really deserved.
He smoothed his feverish tip up and down my behind, barely dipping into my quivering sex for a tease. I screamed at him again, “Do it, or are you too meek to be wearing that decadent uniform?”
“Screw you!”
“Let’s hope.”
I guess my mouth was just too much for my pretty cop, and my ultimate punishment was a long, stiff shove straight into me, making me howl like an American werewolf in Detroit! I had spied his erection every time I saw him and wondered what it was like—now I knew.
He slowly moved that talented cock in and out of me with such precision. I could feel him fumbling around my clit, making it hum, singing praise to him as he caressed it. Then his action really started. He leaned over me, gyrating his hips and nailing me like I had never been nailed before. I was getting the bang of a lifetime, and from the one cop I needed it from, without courtesy of a new miniskirt.
My wonderful cop with the mile-long baton clinched me tighter to him, making me feel exactly how hard his muscles were—especially one muscle. He jerked ferociously, spilling bubbly hot liquid onto my lower back and derriere, then massaged it in as he came to a low simmer. His breathing calmed my own heaving chest that had his hands melted into them. I was sure my hair was a mess, but again, I didn’t care. The rest of me had gotten its punishment, and I so deserved it!
He fixed my clothing, released my cuffed hands and proceeded to his squad car.
“Hey,” I called out, almost in a frenzy, “What about my ticket?”
“Call it time served.” He winked at me, that amazingly hard cock still pressing against his pants, before driving off.
My officer tapped on the car door, getting my attention. “Ma’am, are you okay in there?”
What had I done? I’d completely zoned out right before his eyes. I knew I had it bad for the guy, but daydreaming about him taking me in broad daylight had taken me to a whole new level. I regrouped as best I could and smiled. “I’m fine. Is there a problem, officer?”
“Do you know what you just did?”
Other than live out a fantasy in the front seat of my car? Sure! I resigned and answered him. “Yes, I crossed a freeway median.”
“What for? That was awfully dangerous.”
I could barely breathe, barely speak without blurting out, “Are we going to get it on or what?” He was so gorgeous, more gorgeous than what I had remembered from catching glimpses at him on the sly. I managed a reasonably sane response. “I’m late for work. Sorry if that caused a problem.”
“It did, but it could have been worse.”
“A semi could have nailed me, right?”
He peered suspiciously into my eyes as if he had actually said those same words at one time or another. Do tell. Then I figured he had finally recognized me. It would have been about damn time. “Ma’am, have you been drinking?”
Wrong response. No, no recollection of me just yet. “All I had was a martini with lunch, officer.”
“Step from the vehicle.”
“It was just one drink, hardly enough to get me inebriated.”
“I want you to take a sobriety test.”
I did as told and walked a straight line in front of him, hoping for a hot session against my trunk. Then again, I wasn’t one for exhibitionism. This man deserved to be made love to in the privacy of a bedroom built for two. Once my walk was finished, I stood barely inches from him, seeing beauty beyond reason—in a cop who was by the books to a fault. “Did I pass your test, Mr. Cop?”
“You’re some lady, Miss Tracey Shane. You did just fine.” He handed me my license back, but looked to me again. “Watch that speed and…” He paused, his eyes leering into mine. “I know I’ve seen you before, and I think it was at the police station.”
Finally!
“Have I arrested you before?”
Still not quite there with the recollection part, are you? “I’ve never been arrested in my life—well, maybe once in college.”
That seemed to intrigue him. “Really? What for?”
I looked close at his badge, “Would you really like to know, Officer Troy Davenport?”
I moved my hand up and down his baton. “A sorority pledge. I had to disconnect the siren from a squad car. Is there anything that I can disconnect for you?” My lashes batted in a fake flirt, but I was very serious.
“You can get back to work safe and sound. That’s what you can do for me.” He shook his head again. “I have seen you before.”
“Indeed, you have.”
He scanned me from head to toe again. I could see a smile wanting to happen as he scoped me, but he kept it professional. “But where? I know now that I haven’t arrested you because I would have remembered.”
“I work on the eighth floor of police headquarters.”
“I remember now. How could I not?”
“Tough day for everyone, I guess. Filing stacks of forms that you and others toss on my desk almost every week wrecks my brain too.”
He slowly shook his head. “You’re that beauty—I mean the file clerk for Chief Daisha Miller.”
“Exactly,” I said, smiling in hopes that he would tear up that tree trunk of a ticket. His Freudian slip hadn’t gone unnoticed, however. I liked his compliment—loved it, in fact. It was what I needed to take my mind from that slab of concrete he called a ticket! There were other things that had taken my mind temporarily from my dire straits, the thickness in his trousers. The guy had a boner that I couldn’t take my eyes from. It looked hot, seething hot and ready to set me on fire. See, there was a token from my sinful daydream. With a whiff of his cologne adding to his appeal, I was so ready for him, ready for him to slide his nightstick into me that I was sizzling.
His voice stiffened, bringing me back to attention. “I’m so surprised that I didn’t recognize you immediately since I see you all the time.”
“You have a tough job, Officer Davenport. Something is liable to slip from your memory sometimes, right?”
“Right. But you should have known better than to pull a stunt like that since you work with officers.” He ripped the ticket from his book and handed it to me. “You may either appear in court and contest this or pay on the fourth floor.” He turned to leave but faced me again with less of a trite expression. “I do show up for my hearings. Just so you know.” He tipped his hat. “Have a good day, Ms. Shane, and be careful returning to work.”
“Did they catch the offender on my floor?”
“We nailed him over an hour ago.”
He was slow to leave, probably feeling bad for talking to me as though I were a common criminal. That was okay with me because it gave me more of an opportunity to scope him, bear witness to that tight er
ection that played a starring roll in my fantasy.
He wanted to act as though he was the calmest, smoothest cop on earth, but I saw him tense as I slid back into my car. He was still checking me out as he did on occasions at the precinct. However, he never inquired about who I was until he had to hand over the ticket. I looked down at the disgusting thing—$140.00. I’d have to work a whole day to recover those damages. I was okay with that because it would give me an opportunity to see him again, close up and personal. One close look at Mr. Gorgeous, and I knew I had to have him, loosen him up, strip him down and wax that screaming magic wand he had in those cute dark blue pants. Oh yeah, he was all that!
My pissed demeanor would have been easier to deal with after a good roll in the back of his squad car. It would have taken away my pent-up tension and anxiety of having to share my paycheck with the cashier instead of giving almost all of it to my mortgage company. No deal. He was as straight-laced as a tennis shoe.
Before my beautiful, expensive officer drove off, I checked out his plate and badge number—107353. I had a little investigating to do on my own, to see what was cooking and how I could cook him one night in front of a nice cozy fire. My daydream minutes ago had started something that it had to finish.
Once I pulled into the parking lot at headquarters, I scoped the squad car lot and saw his license plate, but not one time that day did he bring his delicious cock up to my floor to tease me into fitful rages again. I couldn’t even look for him due to someone adding to Troy Davenport’s pile of bull sitting on my desk. That crap had to be filed by five, and it was two. Didn’t leave a girl a lot of time to check the premises for a cutie. He never made his appearance that day or the next. Sheesh!
Two days later, I was sitting in traffic court listening to the many sob story cases before mine, and the judge was relentless, slamming that gavel down and sending people left and right to the cashier. I was determined to fight the ticket whether cutie-pie had given it to me or not. I didn’t have that kind of money to give away without a fight, even though I really did deserve it for crossing a freeway median.
The Cop Page 15